that adds alot to the poem. thanks.
________
cheap glass bongs
Poetry Thread
-
bigdirtyfoot
- Sloppy
- Posts: 3142
- Joined: 22 Apr 2002 12:30
- Location: NC
... Yeah there's always a few pages of explanations I could write for my poems. Glad you liked it.
-
KronoKicker
- Atomsmashasaurus Dex
- Posts: 750
- Joined: 27 Apr 2004 10:39
- Location: Morrisville, NC
ahhhh....much better. hopefully others will repost like you did. might as well do mine while im posting.
“Man” made the can. He can do whatever with it he wants to it. He can leave it alone, drink it, crush it and so on. The can (it isn’t alive or possesses feelings but in this case it does. deal with it), doesn’t want to be drunk or crushed and as a result helplessly “shrieks”. The can and the soda in the can, which were made by “man” who put the soda in the can, will never again be as they once were. So…. If someone believed in God he/she could say that this is analogous to man and God. God being the “Man” in the poem and the man being the can. They (religious people) could say that “God imposes his will on us. We are helpless do what he does to our bodies and souls. Once he takes us away from this world ( taking our souls away and letting the body rot on Earth) we will never return to this world again; at least not with the same body.”
Im not religious bytheway.
“Man” made the can. He can do whatever with it he wants to it. He can leave it alone, drink it, crush it and so on. The can (it isn’t alive or possesses feelings but in this case it does. deal with it), doesn’t want to be drunk or crushed and as a result helplessly “shrieks”. The can and the soda in the can, which were made by “man” who put the soda in the can, will never again be as they once were. So…. If someone believed in God he/she could say that this is analogous to man and God. God being the “Man” in the poem and the man being the can. They (religious people) could say that “God imposes his will on us. We are helpless do what he does to our bodies and souls. Once he takes us away from this world ( taking our souls away and letting the body rot on Earth) we will never return to this world again; at least not with the same body.”
Im not religious bytheway.
F.R.
"The bereft seven inches of Adam" or "The godforsaken seven inches of Adam"
(can’t choose which title is better so just pick one)
I have a penis.
It is the key to the future.
It will inseminate the ripe young mother of tomorrow
and give way to the future generations to come.
It will be unappreciated for what it has done
and soon forgotten.
No one will thank my penis,
and that makes my penis mad.
It speaks, "Fuck the future.
They won't appreciate me for what I'm worth.”
What my penis doesn't know is
that it will get fucked either way.
ill write an in depth analysis about it later
(can’t choose which title is better so just pick one)
I have a penis.
It is the key to the future.
It will inseminate the ripe young mother of tomorrow
and give way to the future generations to come.
It will be unappreciated for what it has done
and soon forgotten.
No one will thank my penis,
and that makes my penis mad.
It speaks, "Fuck the future.
They won't appreciate me for what I'm worth.”
What my penis doesn't know is
that it will get fucked either way.
ill write an in depth analysis about it later
F.R.
This song keeps playing in my head:
The year is '94 and my trunk is raw,
In the rear view mirror is the mother funckin' law
I got 2 choices ya'll pull over the car or
Bounce on the devil, put the pedal to the floor
I ain't tryin' to see no "How we chase with Jay"
Plus I got a few dollars I can fight the case
So I - pull over to the side of the road
I heard, "Son do you know what I'm stoppin' ya for?"
"Cuz I'm young and I'm black and my hats real low?
Do I look like a mind reader Sir? I don't know.
Am I under arrest or should I guess somemore?"
"Well you waz doin' 55 in a 54.
Licenses and registration, please step out of the car.
Are you carrin' a weapon on ya I know a lot of you are."
"I ain't steppin' out of shit,
and all my papers legit."
"Well, do you mind if I look around the car a little bit?"
"My glove compartment is locked, so is the trunk in the back.
And I know my rights, so you gonna a warrant for dat. -haha"
"Aren't you sharp as a tack.
Whatcha some kinda lawyer or something,
Somebody important or something?"
"I ain't pass the bar, but I know a little bit,
enough that you won't illegally search my shit."
"We'll see how smart you are when the K-9 comes."
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one!
The year is '94 and my trunk is raw,
In the rear view mirror is the mother funckin' law
I got 2 choices ya'll pull over the car or
Bounce on the devil, put the pedal to the floor
I ain't tryin' to see no "How we chase with Jay"
Plus I got a few dollars I can fight the case
So I - pull over to the side of the road
I heard, "Son do you know what I'm stoppin' ya for?"
"Cuz I'm young and I'm black and my hats real low?
Do I look like a mind reader Sir? I don't know.
Am I under arrest or should I guess somemore?"
"Well you waz doin' 55 in a 54.
Licenses and registration, please step out of the car.
Are you carrin' a weapon on ya I know a lot of you are."
"I ain't steppin' out of shit,
and all my papers legit."
"Well, do you mind if I look around the car a little bit?"
"My glove compartment is locked, so is the trunk in the back.
And I know my rights, so you gonna a warrant for dat. -haha"
"Aren't you sharp as a tack.
Whatcha some kinda lawyer or something,
Somebody important or something?"
"I ain't pass the bar, but I know a little bit,
enough that you won't illegally search my shit."
"We'll see how smart you are when the K-9 comes."
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one!
Go out and shred already.
~Damon Mathews
~Damon Mathews
-
bigdirtyfoot
- Sloppy
- Posts: 3142
- Joined: 22 Apr 2002 12:30
- Location: NC
Written 7/4/04:
Stubbornness of Slurs
Slurs. A word I never contemplated the meaning of,
Which would fall along the thesis of
- A technique used to block the truth from focusing in 20/20.
The many innocent jokes are building a
Hostile environment for red/white flags with black hate insignia.
And in this story we notice that a smile never fails,
While a frown does not either.
Each expression battles the hope of the other,
A yin-yang symbiosis.
But one could prove positive by playing improvisational blues
With a comrade, rather
Than play russian roulette with the world.
I'll never open my eyes to see the same environment,
The Earth has become comatose.
Tears coat all eyes and recharging the ducts is futile.
Perhaps in repayment for a broken jaw,
Teeter-tottering the curb of white suburbia,
We could all bite the curb to have our backs of our heads
Impacted!
Perhaps the smoke-blown rings of resentment
Somehow justified the three gunshot wounds to the chest
Of the cigarette exhaler.
Perhaps the slurs and innocent jokes pulled the triggers.
So let's
Put the slurs on trial.
Let's convict the cleverly disguised mind alterations,
And hope they leave the joint as well-behaved
As the owner of the foot and leg muscles
That broke that black man's jaw on white suburbia's curb.
If the slurs and misunderstandings cannot retribute,
They cannot return to our now-awake fresh air and soil.
Otherwise, I cannot continue to sleep in adjacent rooms
With a five year-old's innocence and smiles.
If we keep this hung jury, I am leaving and not ever waking again.
Because those smiles never fail,
And neither do the frowns.
So let's end the tirade of these tyrannical slurs,
And show them they can be at least
Agreeable cellmates with their co-working affirmation actions.
Because only the smiles can combat the
Stubbornness of these hateful slurs,
And it is easy to see the thrown fights that frowns front.
"Power in defense of freedom is greater than power in behalf of tyranny and oppression."
- Malcolm X
Stubbornness of Slurs
Slurs. A word I never contemplated the meaning of,
Which would fall along the thesis of
- A technique used to block the truth from focusing in 20/20.
The many innocent jokes are building a
Hostile environment for red/white flags with black hate insignia.
And in this story we notice that a smile never fails,
While a frown does not either.
Each expression battles the hope of the other,
A yin-yang symbiosis.
But one could prove positive by playing improvisational blues
With a comrade, rather
Than play russian roulette with the world.
I'll never open my eyes to see the same environment,
The Earth has become comatose.
Tears coat all eyes and recharging the ducts is futile.
Perhaps in repayment for a broken jaw,
Teeter-tottering the curb of white suburbia,
We could all bite the curb to have our backs of our heads
Impacted!
Perhaps the smoke-blown rings of resentment
Somehow justified the three gunshot wounds to the chest
Of the cigarette exhaler.
Perhaps the slurs and innocent jokes pulled the triggers.
So let's
Put the slurs on trial.
Let's convict the cleverly disguised mind alterations,
And hope they leave the joint as well-behaved
As the owner of the foot and leg muscles
That broke that black man's jaw on white suburbia's curb.
If the slurs and misunderstandings cannot retribute,
They cannot return to our now-awake fresh air and soil.
Otherwise, I cannot continue to sleep in adjacent rooms
With a five year-old's innocence and smiles.
If we keep this hung jury, I am leaving and not ever waking again.
Because those smiles never fail,
And neither do the frowns.
So let's end the tirade of these tyrannical slurs,
And show them they can be at least
Agreeable cellmates with their co-working affirmation actions.
Because only the smiles can combat the
Stubbornness of these hateful slurs,
And it is easy to see the thrown fights that frowns front.
"Power in defense of freedom is greater than power in behalf of tyranny and oppression."
- Malcolm X
-
bigdirtyfoot
- Sloppy
- Posts: 3142
- Joined: 22 Apr 2002 12:30
- Location: NC
Glad you revived this. Here's one of my latest:
Ghastly Rust - Written 8/12/04.
Your wrinkles are turning to dust,
I'm shooting them out of space.
It seems as if your face
Has turned to a ghastly rust.
Maroon in color,
But you lost your luster.
All the effort I could muster
Is making you duller.
Let's raise our voices,
This life is not an end.
Around the bend
Lie many forked-path choices.
And my hand won't move
The same as five years ago.
Relationship of command below
This rocky road I regret to choose.
I was holding on to sex
When I should have let go of you.
You were clasping at your face; brand new,
A scarred remembrance of thrown objects.
Let's lower our voices,
Retrace to our era of pre-seduction,
To the fork of introduction.
This time we'll walk separate choices.
Ghastly Rust - Written 8/12/04.
Your wrinkles are turning to dust,
I'm shooting them out of space.
It seems as if your face
Has turned to a ghastly rust.
Maroon in color,
But you lost your luster.
All the effort I could muster
Is making you duller.
Let's raise our voices,
This life is not an end.
Around the bend
Lie many forked-path choices.
And my hand won't move
The same as five years ago.
Relationship of command below
This rocky road I regret to choose.
I was holding on to sex
When I should have let go of you.
You were clasping at your face; brand new,
A scarred remembrance of thrown objects.
Let's lower our voices,
Retrace to our era of pre-seduction,
To the fork of introduction.
This time we'll walk separate choices.
-
brian relly
- fan-tas-tic
- Posts: 2711
- Joined: 31 Aug 2003 10:03
- Location: 303
This is a poem semi-related to footbag. It was for my lit class. Let me know what you think. I'm a little iffy on the end of the third stanza and on. Does anyone know a better way to describe a 32? lol
it has been said that there
are patterns everywhere in nature
that can be understood and described
through numbers.
from the way the man
on the couch next to me
sends smoke spiraling through the
morning air as he pulls on his pipe,
to the cinnamon swirls on my slice
and non-dairy creamer, lightening
my cup of coffee.
i pull
the tightly-woven threads of cotton
over my head, and take one last look
at the unfinished bowl
of golden-brown donuts
and we’re downstairs, piled
into the gas-guzzling utility vehicle
(mid-level luxury)
and we’re off, driving
through the rain-slick streets
(most of the population sits
in church, so there’s not much traffic)
no one discusses anything interesting,
so i stare straight ahead,
transfixed by the grooves in the glistening
asphalt. But i’m not really paying attention
to the patterns in the pass
i just daydream, rather,
about the cute girls in my class.
it has been said that there
are patterns, everywhere in nature
even in the rate which the
footbag rises and falls
upon my outstretched instep
and gracefully passes clockwise
about the circle, from person
to person, after each tripless run.
a pattern, even, in the footbag itself.
a pentagon in the middle
encircled by 5 lopsided hexagons
and every rose
adds to another rose
and on
and on
it goes.
Ad infinitum…?
Who knows? Some say it stops
At thirty-two.
it has been said that there
are patterns everywhere in nature
that can be understood and described
through numbers.
from the way the man
on the couch next to me
sends smoke spiraling through the
morning air as he pulls on his pipe,
to the cinnamon swirls on my slice
and non-dairy creamer, lightening
my cup of coffee.
i pull
the tightly-woven threads of cotton
over my head, and take one last look
at the unfinished bowl
of golden-brown donuts
and we’re downstairs, piled
into the gas-guzzling utility vehicle
(mid-level luxury)
and we’re off, driving
through the rain-slick streets
(most of the population sits
in church, so there’s not much traffic)
no one discusses anything interesting,
so i stare straight ahead,
transfixed by the grooves in the glistening
asphalt. But i’m not really paying attention
to the patterns in the pass
i just daydream, rather,
about the cute girls in my class.
it has been said that there
are patterns, everywhere in nature
even in the rate which the
footbag rises and falls
upon my outstretched instep
and gracefully passes clockwise
about the circle, from person
to person, after each tripless run.
a pattern, even, in the footbag itself.
a pentagon in the middle
encircled by 5 lopsided hexagons
and every rose
adds to another rose
and on
and on
it goes.
Ad infinitum…?
Who knows? Some say it stops
At thirty-two.
esteban barnez
myspace.com/rawcakes
myspace.com/rawcakes
david wrote:I was just sitting here surfing and my mom looks over my shoulder. I had to jab down the down key real quick so she wouldn't see that topic title and question me about what kind of site I was going on.